Gunship - The Series

by John Davis

  “We must find another home. The attacks grow more common.” Gore said as Roman's group of warriors approached at arms.

  The Husk warrior, a race that looked both of Orc and demon descent, had long hair falling from a majority of his large frame. The brown locks that were so common among his race did little to cover such a specimen of muscle, though it was covered in scars. He had seen many battles, and survived to tell of the horrors that had accompanied them.

  For his people hated the Hunters, and their only goal in life was to end as many Vampires as possible; making him a perfect fit for Roman's Empire.

  “I agree,” Roman replied. “The scouts they send pose little threat, but may one day be replaced with Hunter Elites.”

  Everyone stood silently at the notion. Hunter Elites were the equivalent of Knights, though they were capable of acts unspeakable. Each had been a slayer of men while alive. So much, in fact, that they had been given the gift of immortality. Roman was one such Knight, or at least it had been planned so. He had been the first to ever resist their influence, and though he seemed unmatched in battle, he would now face the best warriors because of it.

  The best warriors that centuries had spawned. Some kings, others but common men whose legend had grown in battle. Each Hunter Elite was, in his own right, the best warrior of his day. Once turned, they added the Vampiric traits to their own skill in battle. And towering above them all, Vladris.

  No Hunter feared, their genetics would not allow such an emotion. But all Hunters, even Hunter Elites, knew of Vladris.

  They knew of his legend, recognized him to be the greatest of their ranks and respected him because of it. And though he had seen many times of war, ending thousands of lives as both Human and Vampire, he now remained by the side of their queen; Sarah Blaine. Praying for the day that brought a battle which he and Roman Raines both knew was imminent. Their own.

  “Where are we to flee? Draden asked.

  The warrior was of Dragonborn descent. His people were clad in scales rather than skin, his a dark orange. Draden carried a long-blade on his side, and was capable with it. However, his gift was of a defensive nature. His exterior of Dragon hide made him nearly impossible to slay, all but the truest of swings merely deflected.

  “I say we stay and fight the bastards!” Pica yelled.

  The Human archer was small by definition, his frame only about five and a half feet in height. The longbow that he currently held was about the same. And together, they were mighty. It took nearly everything Pica had to force the bow into a ready position, but the arrow that flew from his weapon of choice had decimating power.

  “I'm glad you feel that way my brother. I have no intentions of fleeing,” Roman replied, turning his gaze to Draden in the process. “But we need to leave this cabin and strengthen our ranks before moving forward.”

  “Moving forward?” Gore asked.

  “There will come a day not long from now that our fight is taken to the Hunters. To their very doorstep. Their queen will know of my legend,” Roman replied. “Come Scucca!” he added, a Vampiric hound of hell joining his side as the group entered the cabin to work on a thorough strategy. Each warrior taking heed as Scucca could not be trusted, often times lunging after any and all, aside from Roman of course.

  Sarah Blaine knew of Roman's legend. Not only had word of his slaying made it back to her, but there was a time when both were mortals. Friends even, that had traveled together on the same Gunship crew. A smuggling crew that encountered many dangers along the way, and one in which Roman had defied the odds to save their lives many times over.

  Sarah knew of Roman's abilities well, and it was the reason behind Vladris remaining at her side. Not that she was afraid of death, not by any means. But because she wanted nothing more than to witness the fall of such a warrior, one that had promised to end her.

  And though Sarah knew of Roman's legend, she had also started the process of reading the Hunter archives. And with each story she read, came a story of Vladris ending the legend of what Humanity had considered its best. Sarah believed in her heart that Vladris would surely end him.

  “My queen,” Vladris said, bending low to the floor of her throne room.

  “Rise warrior, for only you are decorated in battle enough to speak to me on the same level.” Sarah replied.

  As Vladris slowly stood to his feet, his level of respect for her grew. She had replaced a queen who earned nothing of the such from him. She had been a coward, a butcher of her own people. The very reasoning behind Vladris ending her by his own blade.

  Sarah had done the opposite, giving her race hope while treating them all with a level of respect that none had ever known.

  She wanted to end Humanity, at least the part of it that hunted Vampires, this much was true. But not for the same reasons as those who ruled the Vampire nation before her. She didn't want them slaughtered because of sport; she considered the Hunters to be the most dominant race.

  And for that very reason, society would either live by their laws of die by their hands. The Hunters were to become the ruling government under her reign, or so she planned.

  As Vladris stood there, a slick-shaven head that was home to several tribal tattoos, he gazed with respect. His pearl white pupils cutting into her with appreciation as a two-handed sword of reaving remained strapped to his back with leather bonding.

  “Thank you my queen,” he replied, his voice soft and polite by Vampiric standards. “I have received word that our scouts have been slain.”

  “As expected.” Sarah replied.

  Normally, during the conversion process, a Human grew worse in appearance. Not Sarah Blaine. She had grown exceptionally more beautiful, if that was even possible. It was almost as if she had been born to become a vampire, not fully blossoming until her conversion.

  Both her lips and eyes nearly glowed a crimson red, the rest of her skin whitening in a way that brought with it purified beauty. She looked as though she had been hand-carved from ivory, and then accented with the perfect coloring in all of the important places.

  “Should I form a group of elites?” Vladris asked.

  “No,” she said quickly, turning to nod her answer as well. “Roman will expect such a move and doing so will only bring the loss of mighty warriors to our ranks.”

  “Shall I track him down myself?” Vladris asked.

  “No.” Sarah replied, turning to look out of the large opening which served as a window.

  The Hunters had built what was the equivalent of a castle, inside the confines of a hollowed mountain. For centuries, each queen had lived here, overlooking their homeworld of Ronica through the large opening in the side of their mountain.

  “You do not believe I would prevail against him my queen?” Vladris asked.

  “I believe nothing less than your victory against him,” Sarah replied, quickly making her confidence in his abilities known. “We will need to defeat Roman Raines by out-thinking him. I have a plan, and it involves you doing something completely different.”

  “Thank you my queen. Speak it and it will be so.” Vladris replied.

  And so began the plan of Sarah Blaine, queen of Vampires; a plan that would surely bring an end to Roman Raines.

  As Vladris stood in his own room hours later, built of stone block and vaulted ceilings, he remembered pieces of his mortal life. There was a large door which led to a balcony, and as Vladris walked onto the tiled floor of stone which overlooked a gushing river below the mountain, he remained deep in thought; a curtain of rain falling across their kingdom.

  Ronica had always been such a beautiful planet. Its warfare being fought with steel, be it sword, arrow tips or axe. Its method of transportation one of horseback, and its climate filled with rain. At least ninety percent of its days filled with the hammering of rain, falling with intention from the heavens above to the soil which its people called home.

  The Ronical Kingdom had been one of the last to fall under the rule of Vampires, staving off th
e sky-born demons time and time again.

  Vladris had been one of the mightiest of Knights, slaying hundreds of Vampires over a period of time which spanned nearly a decade. And, as several Hunter Elites finally pinned him down in battle, Vladris remained true to his legend; slaying a few of them as well, before falling himself.

  Shortly after, The Ronical Kingdom fell. Ronica's people had fought with such courage, such desire for life, that after the war had ended the Hunters allowed them to live. Under Vampire laws and rule, of course, but none were to be harmed without good cause.

  Vladris had helped earn his people, to some degree, freedom. The Hunters even thought so highly of their champion that they defended the Humans on Ronica as well; placing their castle here and treating the Humans who remained as though they were better than simple cattle.

  Every hard rain that lay before the eyes of Vladris reminded him of his mortal life on Ronica. Reminded him of the King he once served; the woman he once loved.

  In fact, when fighting the Hunters many years ago, it was the thought of his true love which led to such feats on the battlefield. And, even to this very day, Vladris thought of Amelia when locked in battle. Her memory and loss of life fueled Vladris, tapping into an emotional rage with sword in hand that had brought him many victories.

  Most across the Skyla System had thought the Hunters to be without emotion. None had ever seen tears flow from the eyes of such a mighty warrior, as they did this very moment. His pain a true love lost forever; forever his death sentence. For he was immortal, cursed to live the remainder of a life never-ending without the warmth of his lover.

  And so the tears flowed heavily from the eyes of such a mighty soldier, a warrior who gripped the banister of the balcony and prayed for a time when someone could best him in battle, ending such a gripping emotional pain.

  Roman and his group of warriors rode hard, their mounted horses pushing forward in the blind of snow. They concerned themselves not with thoughts of bandits, highwaymen or even Hunter groups. For they rode with Roman Raines, arguably the greatest Vampiric warrior in history. Arguably.

  Between that title of legacy and Roman stood Vladris, and in his very soul, Roman knew the day of confrontation was drawing near. Soon the warriors would meet in battle, it was destiny. And though he knew not the outcome, Roman believed on that day Ronica would know with certainty who deserved the title of greatest.

  “Soon the snow will turn to rain. Let us make camp for the night.” Roman said as the riders began to slow, finally spotting a small patch of trees which would provide cover enough to burn a campfire.

  Most notably, Pica was the first to welcome the mention of camp. Though he only carried a longbow, it was one of both exceptional quality and craftsmanship. It remained in such condition because of Pica's caring hands, conditioning the weapon regularly, just as he did on this very night by the light of a campfire.

  Using a small piece of grit paper, the Human slowly brushed across the tough wood of the bow, doing away with any dings it may have recently acquired through use. Then, he brought the longbow back to a shine with a rag which he dipped into a small jar of oil. Clear, almost as if it were alcohol fit for drinking, Pica continued to care for every inch of his weapon.

  “The way you stroke your weapon grows me to wonder of your intentions on this night.” Gore said as the group burst into laughter.

  “Worry not for me,” Pica replied with a snarl. “But for that rust covered blade which rides your back as poorly as you ride your mount.”

  As the laughter of the group grew, even Roman was forced to break his concentration a bit. He regularly meditated, losing himself into thought and mind as Scucca, his hellhound, stood guard over him.

  With a loud bark which chilled hot tempers, Scucca glanced at the group as if to warn them of their growing noise.

  “This rusty blade has killed many warriors,” Gore replied, though his eyes remained on Scucca. “A slew of them holding the very bow that you covet so greatly. The rust will fall from my blade when it finds a new home in bloody flesh, which may be that of a dog should Roman turn a blind eye.” he added, staring as if to dare Scucca to move on him.

  “And if the blade strike doesn't kill him, the gangrene of rust surely will!” Draden replied, causing the entire group to burst out loudly.

  “I hear you my brother,” Gore replied, turning his attention to the Dragonborn warrior turned campfire jester. “And many of the cowards wielding bows which my blade has slain had scaled-hides as you do.”

  Rather than reply, Draden scowled at Gore, defending his people with a stern look. Quickly after, however, the stern look turned to Scucca as well.

  “That damn dog is the devil himself.” Tunak said, the muscle-bound warrior also eying the guard dog of Roman Raines.

  “Aye,” Gore said. “And should the the devil snarl his lips to me one more time, he will lay testament to what my rusted blade can do.”

  “Save it my brother,” Tunak said, gently sipping from a metal cup filled with coffee as the light of fire illuminated their faces. “Not so long from now we will be knee-deep in Vampires. Save what little life your blade has left for them.”

  And with that joking insult, the entire group began laughing once more, followed by Draden tossing Gore his oily rag.

  “We'll see whose blade chews more flesh when the dying begins my friends.” Gore lashed out, though moments later he began shining his blade and ridding the rust.

  Roman heard the chatter of his group, and normally would have warned them to be more silenced. But he understood the situation. The Hunters knew they were coming, they must have.

  Normally Roman and his group would have encountered several Vampire scouts during their ride. However, they had not encountered a single one. Nothing. Which led him to believe all of the blood-sucking bastards had been called back to the castle to lie in wait.

  Strangely, since being turned to the ranks of the undead, Roman not only found the art of meditation relaxing, but felt as though it provided some sort of link to the mind of Vladris.

  He knew not of the location of Vladris, or what thoughts crept into the warrior's mind; but rather a feeling of connection. Roman had often wondered if the same feeling was had by all Hunters, or just himself. He had promised himself that should he ever take a Vampire alive, he'd get the answer to his question. Unfortunately, no day had yet come. He simply enjoyed killing them too much.

  Roman also wondered of Scucca. What had spawned such loyalty from the dog, at first sight no less. The Vampiric hound of hell had partnered itself with Roman from the very first encounter, and he was still unsure why. As badly as Roman Raines wanted to watch the Hunters' castle burn to the ground, he felt an overwhelming need to visit their archives first. He wanted to learn as much about the race which he was forced into, because, like it or not; he was indeed a Vampire.

  The battle of Callian saw thousands fall, hundreds of thousands even. The Husk allied themselves with what remained of the Ronical Kingdom, brining their massive blades into battle.

  And though the damned green-skinned Husk were born to slay us, still we pushed them back. Our elites were killing Husk Tribals, their warrior of warriors, at a ratio of three-to-one.

  As our great army began to crush what few Husk which remained, an unknown warrior arrived with but twelve knights. And though our enemy's force remained below a hundred warriors, standing against thousands of our own, the warrior led them to victory.

  Our own people are beginning to call them the twelve angels. They are whispering that the human warrior is a God among men. Could it be so? Could a God walk among them and protect such a beautiful kingdom?

  Our queen has announced such talk is to be considered treason, and that anyone guilty will be led to the gallows. Still, secretive chatter continues among our own ranks.

  As Sarah continued to read the Hunter archives, she grew to understand the power in battle which Vladris possessed. Having him nearby made her feel completely safe,
as if the Gods did not have power to harm her. For such a warrior to have been turned, giving him the strength and speed of an immortal, Sarah truly believed it was the Hunters' destiny to rule civilization.

  “We approach Marlock,” Roman said, his chilled voice only adding to the vivid mist which escaped his lips on such a cold morning. Adding a bit more eeriness to the sight of a hound spawned of hell running beside them.

  The snow had subsided, leaving behind drifts deep with powder and a cold that hurt to the bone. Roman had known of Marlock throughout his lifetime of hatred for the Hunters. And as legend had spoken of it, he had imagined a great city, its buildings filled with warriors who remained true to their fight against the Vampires. A great city marked by the hanging of red skulls from limbs of surrounding trees. A warning to any Hunters who might approach.

  It soon became evident to Roman Raines that the legends spoke of a lie, at least in the description of Marlock. It was no city, not in the least. Merely a village of only a few dozen dwellings, each made of thick logs and cemented mud.

  He hoped that the rest of the Marlock legend held true. It spoke of an army so mighty, so in love with the bloodlust of Vampires, that the Hunters could not remove them from their city. Or in this case, small village.

  “Let us hope the warriors put up a better fight than the beauty of their home.” Gore said loudly as the group slowed to a trot.

  “Or that their women are easier on the eyes.” Tunak added, prompting laughter from most.

  “Silence,” Roman demanded, turning to his group for a moment. “A warrior can never be judged by his surroundings. To do so is unwise. The mightiest I have ever had the honor of doing battle with, or against, came from such conditions,” Roman added. “For these men know of no comfort, they know of no luxury. They only know of pain, which makes for a dangerous warrior indeed. A grizzly among men.”

  “A grizzly growls in my stomach,” Pica said, his bow strung to the back of his thick coat. “Let's hope these dangerous warriors know of food.” he added, the entire group beginning to laugh once more.